Recap of the Past Year

Last March, I moved out and lived on my own for the first time. I had been doing fairly well, wasn't on any medications. It felt like something I had to do. My first apartment (a one-bedroom) was in an old, 15-unit building. It was quite large for the amount of rent I paid. There was coin laundry in the basement.

At first, I was anxious, worrying that I had made the wrong decision, but I started to feel more comfortable the more I figured out which things go where. The anxiety didn't go away, though, and my mood started to sink. The stress of trying to survive on my own, loneliness, and a multitude of other problems, like my neighbour constantly yelling at her dog, was really getting to me. I started on a new medication and made plans to move.

I now rent a room in the gorgeous 1920's house of a member from my mother's church. Having other people to say "hello" to at least, has been nice. My mood had been improving on the new meds, to the point that I attempted taking a chemistry course. The drug's effects seem to be wearing off, though, and my mood has plummeted again. I dropped out of the course and am now generally miserable. I feel useless and have started to hate myself (something I've never experienced before). I've been having suicidal thoughts; I worry I may act on them. I promised myself I'd never attempt suicide again...

Glue?

I went to the orthodontist yesterday afternoon.

A couple months back, right before I moved (I'll post about moving eventually), some of the glue on one of my permanent retainers broke off. I have wires glued to the backs of my top front and bottom front teeth. The spot of glue on one tooth cracked and half of it fell out.

It has been years since I was last at the orthodontist, and Dr. V-, who I saw, moved away. A new organization, Right Bite Orthodontics, set up in his old office, so I set up an appointment with them.

As the dental hygienist (or whatever the orthodontic equivalent is) was removing the remaining adhesive from my tooth, I got a bit light-headed. It had to be ground off with some noisy spinning device, and I could smell the vapours. After applying new glue and drying it, and $75 later, I was good as new.

My main reason for talking about this is because of it's possible relation to the horrible night I had afterwards.

Around midnight, I started getting sad and anxious. I lay on my bed for 20 minutes, thinking and feeling weird, unable to get up to go do something. My mind was going in circles, trying to decide whether to go to bed or play a video game. I absolutely did not want to take my meds. I was afraid to, for some reason. I was to increase my dosage again that night (I've been doing so every 4 days). When I finally got up, I took my meds, but was unwilling to up the dosage. I didn't take them with food as I normally do.

I went to bed and continued to feel weird and scared. My thoughts didn't always make sense. At one point I had to get up to go to the bathroom. The blankets on my bed still looked like there was a person under them, and I wondered if I was actually dead, that it was my body underneath. I felt them, but there was nothing solid beneath. My stomach was upset and gurgling, which may have just been due to my not taking the med with any food. It also felt like it was being pulled down through the bed, or out other directions.

It was an awful, scary night. I felt like I was going insane.

I wonder if it was the adhesive's vapours that drove me insane, either on its own, or by interacting with my meds.

Re-Booking

I've noticed one improvement, at least, since getting off most of the meds: my focus is much better. I'm halfway through a fourth book in less than a month -that's more than I've averaged in a year for the past few years! How I've missed reading. I have wanted to many times, but it was like there was a barrier preventing me from doing so.

I Gotta Get it Right, I Gotta Quit These Drugs

I had an appointment with my psychiatrist today. I have to decided to begin tapering off my meds. Nine years, 13 different drugs and little to show for it. I want to see what I'm like without all this crap in my system.

The Dark Ages

I think I would like to talk about the darkest chapter in my life. I've written much about it in journals, but I burned all those to lessen the number of reminders in my environment. This blog, however, is for my friends, to better understand who I am.

First, a little back story. My depression began in grade 7, the reason, if any, unclear to me to this day. For 2 years I struggled with it, until admitting that I needed help. I began to see a counsellor, who was of great help. It was only temporary, as she was a student gaining experience, and had to return to school. My family physician put me on Fluoxetine, which made me incredibly restless and jittery. I started to see a psychiatrist. We tried a number of meds, which did little, if anything (most meds have no effect on me, and the ones that do wear off quickly).

Enter A-, my first love. I met her in grade 10 Latin. I asked her out, and though she declined, we became friends and talked often. I had been having suicidal thoughts every once in a while for the past year, and when I discovered she had a boyfriend, I decided to attempt suicide. While my Mom was out, I took a knife and cut the backs of my hands to test how much it would take to slit my wrists. Fortunately, I "chickened out" and called my Mom. We met with my shrink and I agreed to check myself into the psyche ward, called CAIP (Child and Adolescent Inpatient Program).

I spent two weeks there. It's insane, but I've never felt more safe or comfortable than in that wing of the hospital up on the 9th floor. I would sit on the window sill of my room and watch the clouds roll over the vast view of the city. I even loved the food! These days I use Axe Snake Peel body wash because it smells like CAIP. I met a number of girls there, who were all discharged before me. I cried when they were gone (I'm almost never that emotional).

After my first stay, the staff at CAIP suggested that I be placed in the Young Adult Program (YAP), which involved academics in the mornings and therapy in the afternoons. I was loath to go, but it was actually really good for me, not because of my assigned counsellor (I thought she was pretty useless), but because I met my best friend there. We were quite the mischief makers, and one time the staff took us aside and literally told us to stop communicating telepathically (we just had to look at one another to share something funny those around us did not perceive)! I was admitted to the hospital a couple more times while at YAP during times when I didn't trust myself to be safe.

After a year I returned to regular high school. I continued to pursue A-. I feel terrible about this. She was very confused as to why I found her so special. One day, I confessed my love for her. After we parted ways, awkwardly, I left school and went home. I had it in my mind that she should know my true feelings before I was gone. This was the worst moment of my life. I'm a bit ashamed, even if it wasn't truly me in control. I waited for Mom to go to Toronto and then took about half a bottle of Tylenol (~50 pills). The whole ordeal was very confusing, my mind going back and forth. I called friends (no answer) and the help line a couple times. They sent an ambulance. For the longest time I lay there, waiting for unconsciousness (which of course did not happen; turns out Tylenol won't kill you, but can mess up your liver in the long run). The paramedics weren't allowed to enter the house until the police arrived. I got tired of waiting and just let them take me to the hospital. The police never came (good thing, you know, I wasn't actually dying!)

In Emerge, I had to drink a bottle of charcoal, and proceeded to vomit it back up again and again until I was just vomiting bile. I spent the night waking up nearly every hour to vomit some more. I was admitted once again to CAIP the next day. I tend to calm down not long after being in the hospital (waiting in Emergency for hours seems to bore the suicidal feeling out of me), making the week or so in the psych ward rather pointless. After being released, I did not go back to school. Eventually, Mr. R-, my Latin teacher and an incredible person, began to tutor me at my home!

A- moved to another city, and I went on to go back to school for a 5th year. I still struggle with my depression (which I've named Courtney, as most of the people I've known with that name were awful), but I vowed to myself that I would never sink so low again.